


From Thorns to Stars

by concerningwolves



Series: We Persevere [2]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, But also, F/F, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, King Louis is in this one and he owns a coffee shop, M/M, Trans Alexander Hamilton, okay well a place that's safe so long as you don't eat the cakes, that's very badly run but nobody cares because he offers a cosy safe space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 07:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concerningwolves/pseuds/concerningwolves
Summary: The corruption at George King's College has gone beyond a subtle atmosphere of tension into the realm of a serious threat, and Alexander's defiant social transition has fired the starting guns for a student revolution. Seabury, Lee and Reynolds run unchecked and student loyalties are shifting faster than Alexander can write. With his own past traumas demanding attention, a tentative new relationship with John Laurens and an academic dream in tatters, Alex has to create a miracle—or watch his new life implode before it has even begun.***Alternatively, the sequel to the one in which Alexander Hamilton is transgender, Washington tries his best but never gets it quite right, and Peggy Schuyler is the only reason that everyone is still alive.





	From Thorns to Stars

**Author's Note:**

> HI SO FUNNY STOry I'm back and rearing to finish this catharsis project of mine. 
> 
> **Disclaimer and warnings** : This fanfic is RPF first and foremost, with borrowed themes from LMM's musical after. Just want to put that out there before anyone accuses me of whitewashing, which is not my intention in the slightest. As for **content warnings** , the rating may rise to mature as the fic continues. There is some violence planned but I'm weak so it probably won't be graphic, and sex is highly likely. 
> 
> **This fanfic also deals with themes of abuse, mental illness, trauma and (sometimes internalised) LGBT+ phobia.** If that's going to distress you, please don't read on. Trigger warnings will go at the start of each chapter and don't hesitate to ask if you need a warning for any specific triggers that you have. Stay safe and happy reading! Xx

 Alexander Hamilton longs to commit the act of intimacy. He and John share their secrets and hopes and dreams in stunted whispers on the snowy streets, or John's apartment, or in King's over coffee. Alex keeps on catching himself thinking that he has found heaven, before reminding himself not to get too comfortable, (as if he was comfortable in the first place). There are things that Alex can't tell John yet. Most of them are about his past, about his frightening dreams and the way that Charles Lee had looked at Alex as he drove away. It wouldn't be fair.

 So they take it slow, and John explains Thanksgiving to Alex in small sips. It is an exceedingly hard pill to swallow.

 

 Mr. Laurens is a hard man, a driven man, but Not Completely Bad, John had insisted; he just didn't understand, used his fists before his words. _I know it isn't healthy_ , John had then added hastily, _but it's all I knew_ growing _up_. And he squeezed Alex's hand in his gloved one, lifted it up to his lips. Alex was powerless to do anything but wrap his arms around John and hold him close.

The weeks to Christmas fly by in a haze of essays and exams. Group meetings are less frequent and usually sustained by inordinate amounts of coffee. If Alex is completely honest, he isn't at all sure how they've gotten to the point they're at now; him holding staples in his mouth and clutching a step-ladder with white-knuckled hands.

 "Pass me the staple gun," John says. Alex does. They are in the corridor outside of the cafeteria, in the long evening hours when nobody wants to be caught wandering the halls. The saner students will all be in their rooms, or the bars, or the 24-hour cafes. It is bitterly cold.

 

John has a pencil between his teeth as he staples a sizeable handmade poster onto the corkboard over the Salvation Army leaflets. **LGBT Cinema Evening** , the poster says, _King's_ their proclaimed venue, _this Sunday_ their time. John admires his handiwork. "Fuckin perfection. How're we lookin, Maria?" 

"Still clear," Maria calls back from where she is standing at the far end of the corridor, keeping an eye out. It feels a little dramatic, but Maria insisted. John hands Alex the staple gun, large and unwieldy with ART DEPARTMENT scrawled on the back and picks up his stack of posters.

In the cafeteria, they display one on the inside of the window, looking out on the carpark, and another on the side windows, overlooking the courtyard. John tries to get into the kitchen area, but the door is locked. 

Not be defeated, John slides one under the door and dusts off his hands. He and Alex share a high-five, tense with excitement, and their fingers link for a moment.  

"We've got this," John says, his flushed cheeks and smile-wrinkled nose just inches from Alex's. 

"We do." Alex agrees, and grins, making sure that his whole face is filled. He believes John, he does, but his elation is tinged with ever-present fear. Their position is unstable. What grip they currently have on power is tenuous, and everything is moving so damn slowly. 

A slow snowball, that's what Washington said last Saturday. Alex wouldn't forget the seriousness in Washington's eyes. They had to test the waters, build up their support, get a flavour of the anger. We've got that already, Alex wanted to say: it tastes like the air before the storm, ozone, mushroom spores, heat, danger. But he had respect enough for his mentor to stay quiet, to bite his lip and touch his knee to John's.

Maria takes the spare posters from John and slips them into her rucksack, shouldering the bag. 

"Eliza and Peggy have theirs up." She tells them. 

"James and Thomas?" John asks. 

"They got sidetracked." Maria grins. She flashes up a screenshot of a snap from Angelica, a supply cupboard door closed, Thomas' red scarf discarded on the floor. 

"At least Thomas is doing better," Alex says dryly. Maria and John laugh.

 

 

* * *

The posters are torn down.

Alex, John, and Maria set out again, armed with reprints and the staple gun. John clips the paper in place with savage intent while Alex stands there with handfuls of refill staples and Maria keeps watch. Alex has to smile at the stern look on John's face, the poked-out tongue, the white of his gripping knuckles. 

"Let them try and tear that off now," John says with conviction. There is no room to get fingers underneath for grip. John is fierce when he means business and Alex quite likes it.

"Pizza?" Maria asks, pocketing her phone. 

"I'm always a slut for pizza," John replies, and they all laugh because this is still fun and games; a petty thing, a tussle over a toehold. They have plenty of posters, plenty of motivation, and plenty of time. It's only Monday, after all. 

* * *

Wednesday comes around, and someone

_(a specific group of someones, they all know the culprits)_

has taken the staples out of the posters, one by one. Alex finds warped staples studded into the bottom of his trainers when he kicks them off at the end of the day in his dorm. The only ones left untouched are the ones in the Arts department.

The three of them end up in the cafeteria again, John's face set hard as he unrolls as much black duct tape as he can. He layers that over the staples and lays it on thick. 

"Let them try now." He says. Definitely a small toehold, Alex thinks and smiles at John. He had never believed that a petty rebellion could be quite so much fun before. John and Alex share a kiss that tastes like a small victory. 

The overhead light switches off as they turn to exit the room. Darkness clamps down. Alex immediately grabs for John's hand with his heart in his throat. Chairs and tables look like pale ghosts where they stand in stacks, lined up neatly across the floor. Alex's eyes strain to adjust. There's a sound like socked feet whispering over the floor and then the screech of metal against the linoleum. The chairs at the very top of nearby stack sway and Alex sees in slow motion, unable to move or think or try something—anything at all—as it topples towards them.

Maria is the one who saves the day.

She flings herself forwards, and Alex is dragged down by her momentum hard enough for his chin to smack against the floor. The taste of blood fills his mouth along with a sick, panicky surge of bile that wipes away any coherent thought. His mind only half registers the slam of the door and the shaking silence that follows behind.

"Alex?" John's face swims into view. Alex doesn't know when he was turned over onto his back, but he does know that his chest aches from the force of taking air into his shocked lungs. He coughs, and John helps him sit up. "Hey, Alex?"

 "Yeah, I... shit." The world spins around, and Alex rests his head against John's shoulder.

"I think that's going to need stitches," Maria says. Alex lifts a finger and tentatively feels the broken skin of his inner lip, already swelling into an angry pulse and raw to the touch. Maria must understand something of the confusion in Alex's eyes because she sits back on her haunches without asking him anything and gets out her phone. The cafeteria is quiet enough that Alex can hear the call connect and the hoarse voice of Angelica that answers on the third ring, sounding tired and then alarmed and, finally, angry.

Angelica doesn't say anything for the whole drive to the ER. Alex can see that her knuckles are white and the veins on her hands stand rigid from the force with which she grips the steering wheel. He can guess what she is thinking and what she will have to say when this night is finally over; but for now, Alex hides his face in John's shoulder and tries to remember to breathe in steady gasps. It is easier to breathe in the smell of turpentine and Lafayette's cooking than to think right now.  

Alex falls asleep in the waiting room and when the nurse calls his 

(dead) 

name, he startles awake, thinking that he is having a nightmare. But the pain in his lower lip is real enough by now, and John's hand is tight around his own, clammy with sweat. He is led to a cubicle where the bed is covered in a paper towel, and the lights glare down on him like some kind of judgement. John sits tensely in the chair at his side. 

The nurse shines a light in his eyes and checks for a concussion. 

"This is going to sting, Miss Hamilton," she then says in a soft voice. That term of address is enough to yank Alex back into the here and now. 

"Please don't call me that." He wishes that he could put a little more strength into his voice, but he's too tired. "It's—Alex." The word rushes out in a breathless tumble, and the silence that follows is the most terrifying moment in a conversation that Alex has ever experienced. He looks into the nurse's eyes as they first widen, and then soften in understanding. 

"I'm Laurie," She says with a smile that is completely and utterly genuine. Alex curls his fingers into the plasticated surface of the bed as Laurie stitches up the large gash in his lower lip. It stings like hell. She talks as she works, telling John and Alex about her six cats who are all named after classic authors and like to chew on shoelaces. 

When it's over, Laurie collects some leaflets from a top drawer and sits on her spinning chair opposite Alex. 

"Have you considered looking at some of these resources?" She hands the leaflets over one by one and Alex accepts with numb gratitude. There is one about changing his name and the different legal options open to him, and another with a list of various helplines. Alex is struck then by the realisation that there just hasn't been time. He has been so busy getting swept along by finals and the matters with their LGBT+ club that his own fresh start has gone stale. A lump worms its way up his throat. 

"Not yet," Alex says. He's impressed by how steady he manages to keep his voice, but John must notice something because there is a brief look of suspicion in his eyes. 

"Might be worth checking out." Laurie pats his hand and tells him that he's all done. 

John helps Alex off the bed, but they don't go straight back to the waiting room. Instead, John gently tugs Alex into a small alcove around the corner from the cubicles and looks him up and down with a wary sort of expression. 

"What are you thinking?" John speaks in a low voice that isn't quite a whisper, but near enough that Alex feels as if they're in a bizarrely clandestine situation. Maybe it is. He clears his throat and tugs his hair back from his face. 

"We haven't had a date yet," Alex says. John just stares at him for a long time. 

"A date?" He repeats. "But like, isn't Friday going to be a date?" 

Alex's cheeks flush painfully and he looks down at his trainers. The painkillers that the nurse gave him are starting to get to his head now, and Alex wonders if he'll be able to blame the whole conversation on them if it doesn't go as well as he hopes. 

"I mean, a proper date." Alex plucks at the hem of John's jacket sleeve and runs his fingers along the fabric, finally taking John's hand in his. "Just the two of us. Everything has been so hectic and I want, I want to do something that isn't about fighting. Together." 

"Do you think after this a date's a good idea?" John's brows furrow together. He is looking at Alexander's swollen bottom lip. And yeah, okay, maybe John has a good point—their fight is more significant than social justice now; it's about their own safety—but Alex craves a change of pattern like he has never craved anything before. 

"Do you?" Alex arches an eyebrow in defiance. There is a beat of silence. 

"Yeah," John finally agrees with a trembling laugh. "Yeah, I think a date sounds fucking excellent."

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short chapter to ease back into the story and bridge the gap between this fanfic and the previous. Real plot, tension and some gloriously awkward smut is scheduled for next time!
> 
> [Come and say "hi" on Tumblr in the meantime?]()


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